This Is the Way the World Ends
by cinnamon badge
Summary: [MWPP] Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
1. James

**A/N:** At last, the first HP fic I ever started writing, fit to print!

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine.

* * *

**James**

James woke to a soft whimper, hardly a sound at all, but loud as any gunshot in the stillness of the night.

He waited. Nothing. He settled back into bed.

Another whimper. Then an extended cry.

So. Harry wasn't going to let them sleep after all.

Beside him, Lily groaned and rolled over. "James," she whined.

"I got up last time," he mumbled.

"He goes back down faster with you."

James tried to get out another coherent response, but such skills are often missing when it is two o'clock in the morning, and what he really wanted was to go back to sleep, anyway. He tried again. "Compromise."

"I'm listening."

"You get him back to sleep and I'll make warm milk for us." James had no idea where that had come from, but was rather proud of himself for thinking of it. Warm milk always put them right out, after dealing with Harry's lovely knack for not sleeping through the night.

He felt rather than saw Lily smile sleepily. "You drive a hard bargain, James Potter," she said, "but I like the way your mind works."

"I amaze myself sometimes," he said, and he heard her laugh as he determinedly launched himself upwards and out of bed, glasses and wand in hand. Lily wasn't far behind, and he kissed her at the top of the stairs as they went their separate ways: him to the kitchen, and her to Harry's nursery.

The kitchen light nearly blinded him when he turned it on, so James dimmed it with a quick wave of his wand. First things first: mugs. He pulled two mugs out of the cupboard, making sure to take out the one with the flowers on it; it was Lily's favorite. From upstairs he could faintly hear her singing to Harry, and the floor creaked as she rocked him back to sleep. James smiled to himself.

Outside, there came the sound of the front gate banging back on its hinges.

The rocking chair stopped above him. "I'll check it out, Lil," James called upstairs, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He was almost positive he had locked the gate after dinner --

When he opened the front door, he found Peter standing on the walk, halfway between the door and the fence.

James jumped, startled, then pressed a hand over his heart. "Merlin, Wormtail, you scared the shite out of me," he said. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in London?"

Peter was unnaturally still and upright, his gaze steady -- if filled with regret. "I'm sorry, James," he said quietly. "I had to do it."

A cold hand of fear gripped his heart. "What's happened?" James whispered, shivering. "What's going on?"

A sudden _crack_ near the street caught his attention. James saw a tall figure cloaked all in black appear. It headed right for the house.

"Fuck!" James cried, his breath sticking in his throat. "Bloody _fuck_, Wormtail -- !"

"The Dark Lord is so powerful," Peter whimpered, shrinking. "I couldn't say no."

"_Is he here, Wormtail_?" A horrible voice issued from the cloaked figure, now gliding towards the unlatched front gate. "_Ah yes, I can sense them nearby --_"

"You were my mate, Pete!" James screamed, clinging to the door frame. "My bloody _friend_! We trusted you!"

"James?" Lily called hysterically from upstairs.

"My lord," Peter said, louder, "James and Lily Potter, and their son Harry --"

"No, Pete! Stop! I'm your friend! It's me, _Prongs_ --"

" -- are in the house at the top of the hill, just outside of Godric's Hollow."

With a wild crackling sound, all of the countless wards around their little house vanished in one fell swoop. It was now openly visible to anyone. The hair on James's bare arms rose at the sharp withdrawal of magic in the air. His heart, already pounding in his terror, began to beat even harder.

"Shite!" he screamed, flinging the door shut on Voldemort's cloaked shape and Peter's quivering form. He raced to the bottom of the stairs to see Lily at the top, wide-eyed with fear, cradling Harry in her arms.

"Peter," he croaked, going up a few steps. "He's -- Lily, _he led him right to us_."

"Oh my God," she burst out, tears pouring down her face. "Oh God, James --"

"Take Harry and go," he cried, just as the front door was blasted off of its hinges. "It's him! Go, run --"

"But you, James!" Lily shouted, going down to meet him halfway.

"I'll hold him off," he insisted, shoving her, forcing her up the stairs to safety. "I'll meet you somewhere."

His lies hung in the heavy air between them, and it was at that moment that James saw understanding in Lily's eyes. "I love you," she managed, backing away, going up to the nursery. "I love you _so much_, James --"

"Get Harry out of here!" he begged, and she turned on her heel and ran up and away.

He had his wand drawn already when he entered the sitting room, and his hand was steady. A strange calm had come over him. Any fear he had felt before had vanished once he saw Lily disappear, and his heart gradually slowed down to its normal tempo. She would be safe. She and Harry would be all right. He flung a Shield Charm up over himself as soon as Voldemort came into sight.

"_You are not important to me, boy_," the Dark wizard hissed, towering like a black specter in the corner of the room. He lazily flicked his wand this way and that, and James barely hung on protecting himself. "_You are only standing in my way_."

"You won't touch a hair on their heads," James swore, throwing one of Sirius's favorite hexes at him. Voldemort deflected it as an afterthought, and it ricocheted into the front hall; the sound of breaking glass reached his ears. "Not while there's still life in me."

Voldemort's white lips curled in a sinister smile. "_If that is what you wish, then I am only too happy to oblige you, my dear, foolish boy_." With a sharp jerk of his wand, James's defenses broke and he felt pain -- such pain as he never could have imagined -- surging through him, flowing along his veins like fire and a thousand needles, coming out his mouth in an agonizing cry. His wand fell from his hand as he arched back in agony and fell to his knees.

"_You thought you could hide from me_," Voldemort said, gliding forward. "_You have learned too late that no one can hide from Lord Voldemort_." He ended the Crucio on James, and studied him for a moment, as James shook uncontrollably.

"I won't let you touch them!" James cried, gritting his teeth against the painful aftershocks. He desperately threw another hex at him, and another, and another, and he shouted in frustration as he watched Voldemort easily deflect each one. The hexes bounced around the house, breaking glass, tearing through furniture, wrecking the home they had so lovingly assembled.

The Dark wizard smiled again, and it scared James unlike anything else he'd ever seen. "_As much as I have enjoyed this, I have better things to do than torture a worthless blood traitor like you._"

He raised his wand again.

James pulled himself up off the floor and to his feet, despite his instinct to curl up into a ball and shut his eyes. He was now between Voldemort and Lily and Harry, blocking the only route through the house that led upstairs.

James looked directly at Voldemort, jaw set -- and knew that he was facing his death.

He was certain now that he would never see his Lily again, not after he had fought so long to win her; and little Harry would never know his father; and Sirius would probably blame himself for everything that had happened; and Remus, poor Remus, who had never wished harm on anyone, would be so upset -- but that calmness was descending over him again, a wonderful, quiet serenity, even as he looked at the thing that would take him away from his family and friends.

He loved them all, they meant more to him than they could ever know --

"_You are going to die, Mudblood lover_," Voldemort declared.

"Give me your best shot," James said, sneering arrogantly.

Let it never be said that Potters didn't go down fighting.

* * *

_Faith in their hands shall snap in two,  
And the unicorn evils run them through;  
Split all ends up they shan't crack;  
And death shall have no dominion. - Dylan Thomas_


	2. Sirius

**A/N:** As this is London in 1981, when punk was king, Sirius is singing "London Calling" by The Clash.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

* * *

**Sirius**

" '_The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in_,' " Sirius sang under his breath, weaving drunkenly left and right as he went up the stairs. " '_Meltdown expected'_... Pete! Open up!"

He banged on the door to Peter's Muggle flat, heedless of the man a floor below calling for him to _bloody_ _shut up!_ "Pete," Sirius slurred, leaning against the door. The cool wood felt excellent against his flushed face. "I come bringing sustenance -- booze, Pete! Booze!"

A door opened down the hall, revealing a man wrapped in a dressing gown. "Sir, my family and I are trying to sleep," he bit off testily.

"Sir, my mate and I are trying to get pissed," Sirius shot back. He banged on the door to Peter's flat again, dropping his bag of Guinness and Stella Artois on the floor. "Pete!"

"If you're looking for Mr. Pettigrew, he left here earlier this evening," the neighbor said, walking towards him.

_Wait -- what?_

Sirius blinked, feeling as though he'd been doused in cold water. "Impossible," he said. "Peter said he wouldn't --"

"I saw him myself," the neighbor said, stifling a yawn. "He left while I was taking out the rubbish. I haven't heard from him since."

It was odd how fear worked better than a Hangover Potion at sobering him.

"Where did he go?" Sirius demanded, lurching forward and grabbing the man's arms. "I need to know, it's important --"

"He didn't say," the man said, shoving him away. "Now I suggest you leave before you wake anyone else up."

Sirius barely heard him, for he was already hurtling back down the stairs, through the foyer, past the snoring night guard, out into the street to his motorbike. No one was out at this time of night, so Sirius barely hesitated for a moment before waving his wand over his bike, and shooting upwards into the night sky.

This was not good. Not good at all. Peter had promised them a hundred times, a _thousand_ times, that he would stay in his flat and only open the door for Order members. Sirius had brought him groceries enough to last three weeks, and James had bought him all the Marvin the Mad Muggle comics and Hobgoblins records he could want -- and he had _no reason to be out late at night_.

"Damnit!" Sirius cried, slamming his closed fist against his thigh. He increased his speed, the cold wind whipping through his long hair.

Everything was fine. Peter had probably just received a Floo call from his mother, the clingy old bint, and had rushed to her side for something trivial like spiders in the attic or gnomes in the garden, and he had decided to stay the night. That was all. Everything was fine.

He could tell something was wrong the moment he pulled over Godric's Hollow, for the Fidelius Charms surrounding the village were gone. "No," he breathed on a sob. "Peter, you bastard -- you sodding _bastard_ --"

Sirius landed heavily at the end of James and Lily's winding road and shot up it, motorbike roaring loudly in the quiet of the early morning. Dawn approached, but still was little more than a grayness to the east. But that other lightness -- the orange one, to the north --

He barely cut the engine of his motorbike before falling off of it and racing up the hill to their house.

It was utterly destroyed. A lamp and end table had gone through the front window and lay dejectedly in the front garden. The front door had been blasted off its hinges, and all the windows had exploded outward and left shiny shards of glass littering the driveway and lawn. A small fire burned in the garage.

A few Muggles stood near the foot of the drive, huddled together for warmth in the chill, and walked towards him when he made to go closer to the house. "We've called the police," a middle-aged woman called, looking at him tiredly. "An ambulance is --"

"_James!_" Sirius screamed, running away from her and the pity in her eyes. "James! Lily!"

He winced as a piece of glass dug into his foot, but kept going, through the busted front door, past the wrecked foyer into the devastated sitting room. "Please, please --"

He tripped over the body that lay in the hall, half-covered by the sofa, sprawled unnaturally on the carpet, and it wasn't until he heard the glasses crunch under his foot that he realized --

"_No_," Sirius moaned, falling to James' side. He was afraid to touch him. James' face wore a look of determination, his eyes set firmly ahead of him.

No pulse. _No pulse._

"James, please," Sirius whispered, pulling him off the floor and holding him to his chest. He cradled him like a child, the way he had rocked Harry to sleep sometimes. "You can't, you _can't_ --"

A dark figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Sirius simply looked up, unable to even think about drawing his wand to defend himself.

"Sirius? Sirius Black?"

The tall shape lumbered down the stairs, the treads creaking under his massive weight. Hagrid, the gamekeeper from Hogwarts. James had always liked him.

"Lily?" Sirius said hoarsely. "Tell me she's --"

Hagrid gestured behind him. "Got 'er in the nurs'ry," he said sorrowfully, and Sirius felt his heart shatter. "Died savin' this little tyke."

And Sirius noticed then that there was in Hagrid's beefy arms a tiny bundle -- he staggered to his feet and saw it was Harry, _Harry_, still miraculously alive and breathing and sleeping as though the world had not just ended. His forehead was smeared with blood from a jagged cut over his eyebrows -- but he was alive.

"I'm his godfather," Sirius said, his eyes drawn to the boy that looked so like his best mate. "I have to take care of him now."

"Sorry, Black," Hagrid said, shrugging. "Got my orders from Dumbledore, y'know. S'posed to take 'Arry to 'is relatives, in Surrey. Lily's older sister."

Sirius nodded, still processing James laying at his feet, dead; and Lily upstairs; and the house on fire; and Harry being taken away --

_Wormtail_.

Sirius' countenance hardened, as sirens began to wail outside. "Take my motorbike," he told Hagrid. "I won't need it anymore."

"Well," Hagrid said, brightening, "that's awful kind of ye --"

"Take good care of it for me," he said. He reached out and stroked Harry's soft cheek one last time. "So long, little mate," he whispered. "I'll come back for you."

"What're --?" Sirius didn't stay to hear Hagrid's question, for again he had barreled away, as fast as his feet could carry him, trembling with grief and horror and murderous anger.

_Wormtail_.

Merlin help Peter. His own mother wouldn't recognize him once Sirius Black was done with him.

He searched for hours, as the sun came up and the new day began, and the first tentative reports started circulating through the Wizarding community. Voldemort dead. Harry Potter, a mere boy, the cause of his downfall. It all swept over Sirius' head, for all he could see was Peter at the wrong end of his wand -- James and Lily on their wedding day; they had looked so happy -- and Harry's christening, when they asked if he would be their son's godfather --

In the end, Sirius didn't find Peter. Peter found him.

He had traced Peter's wand to just outside Exeter, in Devon, and was running down a residential street following the source when a sharp _crack_ announced the presence of another wizard before him.

"Peter," Sirius said, smirking cruelly. "Fancy meeting you here."

Peter raised his wand and pointed it at him with shaking hands. "I-I'm not af-afraid of you, Sirius B-Black!" he cried.

Sirius barked a laugh, withdrawing his own wand. "You should be, Wormtail." He spat the name like the dirtiest obscenity. "You --"

"I know what you d-did!" Peter shouted over him. "You're an evil, evil m-man!"

Sirius frowned. What on earth...?

"J-James and Lily, Sirius!" Peter went on, now gripping his wand with two hands. "They were my b-best m-mates! And you k-killed them!" The noise he was making had now attracted a whole crowd of Muggles. Cars had stopped and their drivers come out, wondering what the commotion was in the middle of the street.

Sirius felt rage surge through him at the accusation. "I did nothing of the sort!" he roared.

"You b-betrayed them!" Peter cried. "Your own m-mates! B-betrayed them!"

Sirius thought that was quite enough.

He raised his wand to hex Peter within an inch of his life, regardless of the Muggles surrounding them, but then there was a huge explosion, a burst of magic and light and flames and smoke -- people screaming -- blood coloring his vision red -- water hissing -- he couldn't see anything, only hear the Muggles screaming --

When the smoke lifted, and he could see again, Sirius saw the gaping crater in the street where Peter had stood. Water fountained up from the broken waterworks beneath the ground. Bodies littered the sidewalk -- Muggles covered in blood and debris, shouting for help, a doctor --

Sirius approached the crater and looked down. All he could see was the pile of robes Peter had been wearing, dyed dark from blood and water.

The prick had gone into his Animagus form.

Sirius' eyes widened as all the pieces, at last, fit into place.

_Everyone thinks I'm the Secret Keeper...and no one knows we're all Animagi..._

It had been planned this way. Down to the last detail -- in stunningdetail, really. There was no evidence save the crater in the street and the two dead bodies in Godric's Hollow.

"Bravo, Pete," Sirius breathed, a smile spreading over his lips. "Well done. Well _done_."

He began to laugh. Great, gulping gasps of desperate laughter that rang demented even to his own ears, and shook his entire body with perverse mirth. The Muggles edged away from him, even more terrified than they already had been.

It was his fault. He had convinced James and Lily of how excellent a ruse it was, no one would suspect a thing, they'd be safe from Voldemort --

And he might as well have drawn a map and personally handed it to the Death Eaters.

He was still laughing when the Ministry officials came and restrained him, laughing as some junior undersecretary announced that he was destined for a life term in Azkaban for the murders of James and Lily Potter and Peter Pettigrew and twenty Muggles. Laughing as his life as he knew it came to an end.

Sirius laughed because if he didn't, he would sob, and would never, ever stop.

* * *

_But there were those amongst us all  
Who walked with downcast head,  
And knew that, had each got his due,  
They should have died instead. - Oscar Wilde_


	3. Peter

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

* * *

**Peter**

The sewers stank of human refuse and rats, more pungent than anything Peter could have imagined, and he nearly gagged. It took several minutes for his beady eyes to adjust to the darkness, after being in the midday sunlight, and basking in the blazing-bright anger in Padfoot's eyes...

It was strange how he was still willing to call them by their nicknames.

_I'm your friend! It's me, Prongs!_

They had never been his friends. Not really. Sure, they had included him in their escapades and pranks and that map that had mostly been Moony's brainchild, and he'd gotten a nickname same as everyone else -- but then there were the jabs that were a bit too malicious to just be friendly teasing. There were the times they conveniently "forgot" to tell him about a kitchen raid, or a prank on Dorcas Meadowes --

Dorcas had died last year. He shouldn't be thinking about her.

No, they had only called themselves his friends when they needed something from him. An extra quill, a book from the library -- and especially when his mum sent him boxes of his favorite chocolates. Peter would eagerly let them have some, assuring himself that they would let him have their chocolates if the situation were reversed, and half the box would be gone before he could get a chocolate of his own. But they were _his_ to begin with, not theirs. Never theirs.

_I thought you were my friend!_

And of course, they were always his friends when he brought death to their doorstep.

_It's me, Prongs!_

Peter shuddered and shook his little head, determined to forget.

Things had not gone according to plan. The Dark Lord was to have entered the house, swept past James and Lily, and just killed the baby. But Peter had heard the thud as James's body hit the floor and had immediately felt a protest rise in his chest -- Prongs had his moments when he was nice. He wasn't nearly as cruel as Padfoot, who found delight in hurting others.

That was when everything had gone wrong. Peter had hovered by the stairs, trying not to look at Prongs' blank face, when from above there came a sharp cry and another crackle of immense power -- the Killing Curse. The Killing Curse going _wrong_. He ran up to the nursery to see Lily staring at the ceiling, oddly twisted on the floor, and the baby bawling in his cot, blood pouring from a cut on his head -- and the Dark Lord was gone, save his wand lying on the carpet nearby.

He had the Dark Lord's wand on him, along with his own, hidden in the sleek covering of his short gray fur. He had followed Avery's auxiliary plan to the letter: Padfoot was framed and out of the way, and everyone thought he, Peter, was dead and gone. Now all that remained was to find a place to hide out until the scattered forces that had once been the Death Eaters had assembled again, with new plans for the future.

He couldn't bear the smell of the sewers before long, for it was so strong that nothing would help him get used to it. He came up onto street level at last, wishing he knew where he was. Devon had seemed like a good idea at the time, but if he couldn't even transform back into his human shape and take stock of his surroundings --

Well, wait a moment. Who said he couldn't ever turn back as long as there wasn't anyone around to see him?

Peter reached the edge of the town, the sirens still audible from where Muggles were trying to clean up his mess, and ran on his four little legs over hills, hiding him from the motorway. The trees were thick here, great towering things that had to be several hundred years old, like everything else in England. He penetrated deep into the thicket and only when he couldn't hear the cars on the motorway did he transform again.

He pulled a faded map out of his pocket and studied it carefully. He needed to get back to London, back to the hub of Death Eater activity, so that even in his rat form he would be able to get news. He wasn't sure how he would be received by the others, for they would have learned of the Dark Lord's defeat by now, but he had no other choice. Lucius Malfoy lived in Wiltshire somewhere, and that was between here and London. He could stop there in a few days to recuperate. East, then. His path lay to the east.

After a few minutes of worriedly turning this way and that -- Moony had always had an excellent sense of direction, Peter remebered -- he finally decided on east and started out, staying in his human shape for as long as he could. The country around Exeter quickly became rural, gently rolling dales and land that in the summer would be brimming with corn and wheat. Now, in early November, the land lay bare, harvested, awaiting next spring when it would be useful again. Cows and horses nosed him curiously as he made his way through various farms, but a quick jolt of wandless magic -- a tiny Shocking Charm taught to him by Padfoot -- would send them on their way.

Night fell, a few times, Peter didn't know how many, and when he next stopped in a cluster of trees and checked his map, he despaired of his lack of progress. At this rate, it would take him months to reach London, and winter was fast approaching. Even Wiltshire seemed a dull prospect now, and he wasn't entirely sure that Malfoy would welcome him with open arms.

Peter sat on a large rock, head in hands, furiously trying to sort everything out. He needed to find a Wizarding establishment to spend the winter, that was certain -- they were much more accepting of rats than Muggles, who would try to poison him or something. But Devon was so sparsely populated, he'd be lucky to find _anyone_ willing to take on a pet rat.

He sighed. Where was Prongs' ingenuity when he needed it?

Peter went on, worried about his hand, minus its sacrificial finger. Running on it had not helped the healing process, and it was now red and swollen to look at. He held out hope for a Wizarding family, one that knew basic healing charms and could help him, a poor wounded rat --

And even though he hadn't really been expecting to find any such place -- more like a Shangri La with each passing day -- he found one.

The smell of baking bread and children's voices reached his pointed ears late one afternoon, the last of the golden afternoons before cloudy, cold winter descended. He sneaked his way under a dilapidated fence into a wide, sprawling back garden attached to an equally wide, sprawling house and, though his mouth watered, he immediately detected the presence of magic. Dear Merlin! He was saved!

The back door banged open and closed, and out came a gangly redhaired boy with a look of distress on his face. The boy stomped across the garden, ignoring some woman's calls from within and the sound of two small children crying, and slammed down onto the bench of one of the picnic tables near the fence.

Peter crept stealthily towards him, weaving through the unkempt grass as the boy muttered under his breath, something about books and his favorite quill and Mummy not listening to him. Peter nibbled at the hem of his well-mended trousers, and the boy looked down.

"What do you want?" he asked imperiously, scrubbing a lone tear from his face. "Are you going to be mean to me as well?"

Peter looked up at him with innocent black eyes.

The boy sighed. "Come up here, then." He scooped Peter into his lap. "At least you'll listen to me, right? Not like Bill and Charlie, because I _told_ them I wanted to read that book and they took it from me anyway, and Mummy told me not to bother her right now because the baby's crying, and Fred and George set fire to my quills this morning." The boy stroked Peter's back, and Peter lay on his leg contentedly. "Daddy said there's a big party tonight in London because a bad man died and he was going to hurt everyone but now he's dead and he can't, and Daddy wants to go and take me and Bill and Charlie with him, but Mummy says I'm too young, but I'm only three years younger than Charlie. I wish I was grown-up."

Merlin, did he always talk this much? Peter shifted, wincing at the pain in his right paw, and the boy noticed it. "Cor, you're hurt, aren't you?" he said. "Bill says he knows how to do healing charms but he's not going to Hogwarts until next year, so _I_ think he's lying. I bet Mummy or Daddy can help you, Scabbers. Do you mind if I call you that, since you have a big scab on your paw?" The boy took Peter and perched him on his shoulder; Peter clung to stay on. "We're going to be best mates, Scabbers, I can tell. You're a good listener."

A listener. That was all he had been to Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs, too. Peter lowered his head tiredly.

They went into the house, where Peter saw a plump, red-haired woman with a tiny infant in a sling round her shoulders, trying to feed a fussy redheaded toddler in a high chair. "Now come on Ron, or no cookies," the woman said sternly. "You need to eat."

"Cookie!" Ron shrieked, banging his little fist on the tray.

"Mummy, look what I found!" the boy said, stepping forward. "He was in the garden, and he's hurt. Do you think he was in a fight with a kneazle?"

The harried woman spared him the briefest of looks before pushing the spoon against Ron's mouth again. "Oh, Percy darling, he might be filthy. Give him a bath before you bring him back in the house. And get Fred and George to help you, I don't think they can set fire to anything if they're around water. At least I hope not," she added in an undertone.

Peter rethought his first impression of the boy -- Percy -- as he was washed carefully and bathed in a bucket of rainwater with fragrant lavender soap. He could get used to this, he decided. Percy already adored him, and he knew that he would receive no such welcome at Malfoy Manor, even if he did make it to Wiltshire before winter.

_All right then_, Peter decided, as he lay that night on Percy's pillow, fat and full on bread scraps and porridge. _Home sweet home it is_.

* * *

_Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned... - William Butler Yeats_


	4. Remus

**A/N: **This is the final part. Of all four parts, this one contains the most speculation and conjecture, since no one really knows where Remus was while all this was happening. Hopefully it sounds believable.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

* * *

**Remus**

The parties that were thrown these days were unlike any others he had seen, not even before the threat of Voldemort. The joy was open, in the streets and towns and for any Muggle to see, spilling forth over the boundary that had existed between the two communities for centuries. The Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks did vigorous business every night, serving half-price drinks to anyone with war wounds or dead loved ones, or to anyone who wished to tell their own version of the way that little Harry Potter had brought about the downfall of the Darkest wizard in recent memory.

Needless to say, no one quite got the story right. And the drunker they all became, the more fantastical the plot.

Remus had stood on the outside of all the celebrations for as long as he dared, having come back from a secret mission in Yorkshire two days after the big event. But he had a delivery to make now, and Dumbledore had asked to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron that night to receive the fruits of his labor. Remus would not refuse.

The noise inside decreased slightly -- but noticeably -- the moment Remus stepped into the Leaky, and he gained everyone's attention at once. He struggled to keep the neutral mask on his face, knowing that all they could think about was the date. The next full moon was in four nights. He even saw Tom the bartender dart towards the wall, where a _Wizarding Quarterly_ swimsuit calendar hung behind the counter.

"Remus." He turned to see Arthur Weasley, a sometime member of the Order, moving forward through the Leaky crowds to reach him, trailed by two young red-haired boys. Arthur shook his hand firmly, with both of his own. "Good to have you here, Remus. I can't tell you enough how sorry I am, me and Molly both. They were good people."

"Thank you," Remus murmured politely, offering a small smile to him and to his sons. "I suppose all victories must come with sacrifices."

"Right you are," Arthur said, releasing his hand. "Can I buy you a drink? A Firewhisky, a --"

"He's here to see me." Both men turned to see Albus Dumbledore, in his usual periwinkle blue robes, a kind smile on his timeworn face. "On private business, I'm afraid, Arthur."

"Oh of course, of course," Arthur said, grinning at both of them. "Don't let us intrude, then. I'll just take Bill and Charlie back to our table -- Dung was telling them a great story about Harry Potter -- come along, boys." The three Weasleys wandered off, towards the far side of the room.

Dumbledore's smile sank away once they had gone. "I believe Tom has some private rooms in which we can speak," he began, but Remus shook his head.

"No, I want to stay and hear what's being said," he said, smiling falsely. "I have the same right as everyone to celebrate Voldemort's defeat, don't I?"

"Of course you do, Remus." Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder, then led him to a table in one of the quieter corners of the room. A butterbeer and a steaming cup of tea awaited them, along with some of Tom's famous pub pie.

Dumbledore was silent as they sat, and Remus took the opportunity to eavesdrop on the table nearest them, where a fat old warlock was busy telling an aged witch all about what had happened on Hallowe'en: "Just mowed 'em down, he did," the warlock said solemnly. "Those two didn't have a chance against Voldemort. James Potter tried to fight back -- of course he did, wife and kid to protect, you know --"

Remus tuned him out immediately, wondering how drunk he could get on butterbeer alone.

"Some would say I am rushing you, asking for you to meet me so soon after -- well, after." Dumbledore stirred his tea thoughtfully. "I hope I am correct in disagreeing with them?"

Remus took a hungry bite out of his pie, licking his lips. "There is no 'too soon,' " he said. "I did what you asked of me, and have come to be debriefed on my mission."

"Excellent." Dumbledore gave him a wavering smile. "Because I fear -- I would not say this to just anyone, you know, but I feel that you of all people deserve to hear it." He took a sip of his tea. "I fear we have not heard the last from the self-styled Lord Voldemort. And as much as I want to be wrong, I need to prepare for that possibility."

"Of course." Remus nodded into his pub pie. He had gone far too long without eating a good meal, and Dumbledore seemed to sense that, for they spent the next few minutes eating without speaking.

Once he had scraped the bottom of his plate, and finished off his butterbeer, Remus settled in to tell Dumbledore what he wanted to hear. "I did some research in the Ministry's historical archives in Manchester," he began, running a finger around the rim of his bottle. "You told me that the wizard I was looking for would be in Law Enforcement, so I started there."

"Very good," Dumbledore murmured, tucking his hands in his sleeves. "And?"

"The man you want is Bob Ogden," Remus said. "I found his complete job application background check -- his wand, his family, his hobbies, it was all there." He pulled a neatly-tied scroll out of his shabby robes and slid it across the table. "I then took all of that and managed to trace him to a home for elderly witches and wizards outside the Muggle town of Bradford, in Yorkshire. His wife died a few years ago, and his children put him there since he's not exactly aging gracefully."

Dumbledore eyed the scroll with interest. "And he's our man? He's the one who responded to an Improper Use incident for a wizard named Morfin Gaunt?"

Remus nodded at the scroll. "I found the exact report, written in Ogden's hand." Dumbledore smiled to himself mysteriously, and reached out with one hand to take the scroll and hide it within the folds of his robes. "If I might ask, Professor?"

"Yes, Remus?" Dumbledore finished off his tea and set the cup aside.

"Why did you have me do this mission? I still can't see any connection between Bob Ogden and He Who -- V-Voldemort." He took a deep breath, then burst out, "And why did I have to go last week, when James and Lily were in hiding?"

The twinkle in the older man's eye left at that. "My motives can be revealed now, I suppose," Dumbledore said bluntly. "I wanted you occupied and out of London because it was strongly suspected that you were the Death Eater spy in the Order."

Remus felt as though he had been punched in the gut. "The spy?" he spluttered. "But -- but Professor, you _know_ that I --"

"Yes, now we do know," Dumbledore said. "We now know that the spy was in fact Sirius Black, not you." He smiled sadly. "I am truly sorry that you were not given the trust you deserve. You must understand that even while the war against blood prejudice has been won -- for the time being, that is -- the war against werewolf prejudice is far from over."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"The mission was not a throwaway one, however. I am eternally grateful to you for finding Mr. Ogden for me. He will be a vital piece in this puzzle."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, and the two of them watched as Arthur's sons laughed and clapped at Mundungus Fletcher's clever wand tricks. With his distraction taken away, Remus was forced to hear again the conjectures swimming through the pub: how James and Lily had died, how Sirius had gone mad, how Peter was in pieces in Exeter. The thoughts circled back on each other in his head, creating a mobius strip of death and destruction.

"I heard that James died saving them," Remus said softly. "They found his body blocking the stairs up to Harry's nursery."

Dumbledore bowed his head.

"And Lily died for Harry too," he went on, his vision blurring. He blinked several times to clear it. "And Peter was blown to bits, they've only found his finger so far."

"Sirius Black will spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for what he has done," Dumbledore murmured.

"To think that we all used to tease him about it," Remus said, laughing in slight hysteria. "Him being a Black, and how intermarried and inbred the lot of them were. James was constantly at him, saying he'd go bonkers one day and end up on a murdering spree, and we'd all have to watch out..." He couldn't finish.

"I will admit I didn't look closely enough at him," Dumbledore said, steepling his long fingers. "His brother Regulus was high in Voldemort's regard until his death last year, and his cousins, the Lestranges, are culpable in several raids and killings." He shook his head. "All we saw was that he was a Gryffindor, and that was good enough."

"He would have died for James," Remus whispered. "He said that when you cast the Fidelius Charm on them. I heard him. I believed him."

_I would die for you, James. I swear on my life, I would die if it meant keeping that thing away from you._

"He lied," Dumbledore said.

Remus excused himself from the Leaky somehow, navigating through the scattered tables and chairs in the pub and out into Diagon Alley. Cheers and jubilant songs rang through the night despite the late hour, and all windows were lit as witches and wizards continued their celebrations. Remus walked past them all, until he had reached the Floo Network hub at the end of the alley. He fished out a few Sickles for the attendant on duty, and then Floo'd back to his dark, lonely house in Cornwall.

_He lied_.

He wasn't drunk enough. Remus stumbled towards the old cupboard in the dining room where his father had stored all of his liquor, and found it empty save a half-drunk bottle of Ogden's. Where had the rest of it gone? He remembered there being shelves filled with alcohol of all kinds -- Firewhisky, butterbeer, gillywater, his father hadn't really been that picky.

_It was strongly suspected that you were the Death Eater spy._

The Ogden's would do for now, Remus supposed, as he drank a generous amount directly from the bottle. He choked on it as it burned its way down. This was about the time that Sirius would tease him for being a lightweight, and unable to hold his liquor like a real wizard.

_Hold it like a real wizard, Padfoot? You mean the way you do?_

_Sod off, Prongs. I wasn't the one proposing marriage to every witch that walked past._

_No, that was me, Padfoot._

_Yeah, remember the look on Marlene's face when Wormtail professed his love?_

And then it didn't matter how much was left at the bottom of the bottle, for Remus had flung it with all of his strength at the opposite end of the room. It exploded in a burst of glass and liquid, leaving a wet splatter on the wall.

"Why?" Remus screamed, clenching his fists. "Why didn't you kill me as well? Why didn't you finish the job? Finish off the full set?"

He fell to his knees, unable to stand, and curled into himself in the corner, as though he could hide from everything and it would just go away. He shook, uncontrollably, shivering with rage and despair and something in between, wanting to see James smile just _once_ more, and hear Sirius's dirty jokes, and play Exploding Snap with Peter.

"Why did you leave me here alone?" Remus whispered, tears streaming down his thin face. "Why, Sirius? _Why_?"

But there was no one to answer his question.

* * *

_This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper. - T.S. Eliot_


End file.
